by Arlene Kay
“Cause of death?” I asked. “I know it`s still preliminary.”
His reply was terse. “Looks like someone bashed her head in with the proverbial blunt object. A metal statue of some kind. An award.”
I gasped and caught my breath. Sonia had a “guiding angel” award from COWE, prominently displayed on her desk. When I`d picked it up, the heft of the thing had surprised me. I saw the look in Anika’s eyes and knew that she remembered it too.
“Do you need our fingerprints, Lieutenant, or our alibis?” Anika brightened at the prospect.
Keegan held up his hands. “Not yet, ma`am. You and Ms. Kane were just about the last people to speak with the victim. What did you discuss? Any threats bothering Ms. Reyes? Anything at all.”
Anika gave a concise account of our chat at Club Noir, omitting nothing except the effect of those cocktails. It didn`t fool Keegan, however. He zeroed in on it immediately.
“Think carefully, ladies. Did Sonia Reyes give any specifics? The so-called incriminating information? Anything at all? Even a hint would be helpful.”
We both shrugged.
“Was Ms. Reyes drunk?” Keegan sneered. “Those cocktails can sneak up on you if you`re not used to them.”
“Certainly not,” I said. “She ordered two Black Dahlias, so she was just a bit tipsy. Why is that important anyway?”
Keegan forgot about Bolin and Deming. He balled up his fist and barked a response.
“This is my show, Ms. Kane. Got that? I ask the questions here.”
Deming’s muscles tensed, but Bolin’s lips twitched in amusement.
“Now, did Sonia Reyes mention the tenure battle”—Keegan glared at me—“or any squirmishes at work?”
“Nope,” I said. “She just said that she had plenty of ammunition if the University tried to bypass her. Apparently money was not the issue.”
“Interesting,” Keegan said. “Her secretary said she had one last appointment this evening. A late one. No defensive wounds on her body which could mean she knew her assailant, or maybe she was passed out when the killer struck.”
“Do you need anything else, or are we done here?” Deming edged his chair closer to mine and grazed my shin. Since we weren`t suspects, I ignored his lawyerly hint.
“I don`t have an alibi,” I said, hoping to provoke Keegan. “I was home alone.”
Keegan went avuncular on me. “Not a problem, Mrs. Swann. I already have a viable suspect in the next room.”
“Really? Who is it?” The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.
“Someone you know. Very well in fact.” He flashed that gator grin once more. “The prime suspect is your ex-husband, Gabriel Mann.”
Chapter Eleven
GABRIEL! THE MAN was deceitful, sexist, and incredibly arrogant—but he was no killer. He regarded females as a necessary evil, handy for quenching physical needs, but hardly enough to risk life and liberty for. I started to protest, but one look at Deming kept me quiet. Deming is gorgeous, brilliant, and megarich. His obsessive jealousy of Gabriel Mann is hard to understand but curiously satisfying. Always had been. I chose the better part of valor and kept my opinions to myself.
Keegan noticed my reaction and pounced. “Surprised, Ms. Kane? After all, he was once your husband. You know him better than most.”
I managed a feeble shrug. “That was ten years ago.”
Once again Anika ran interference for me. “I never knew him to be violent, Lieutenant. Why suspect Gabriel?”
Keegan had baited the hook. Now he slowly reeled us in. “Let`s see. He was on the premises, one of the deceased`s former lovers, and oh yes, a bitter rival for promotion. That does it for me.”
Bolin quietly interjected himself into the scene. “Have you formally charged him?”
“Nope,” Keegan said. “I can hold him for forty-eight hours, as you well know. Come to think of it, he was asking for a lawyer. Said he wanted to contact you.”
“Thank you for your courtesy, Lieutenant, but we have to leave. The ladies are exhausted.” Bolin gave him the boardroom shuffle and pulled out Anika’s chair. Deming and I filed out behind him, loyal subordinates following the leader.
“Not a word `til we clear the building.” Deming hissed the warning at me through gritted teeth. Normally, I would have objected, maybe even hooted just to assert myself. Tonight the London-fog atmosphere kept me silent.
As the elevator descended, Bolin motioned to his son. “Text Pam to get ready. This will be a tough one.”
Pam was Pamela Schwartz, Deming’s close, close friend and my longtime nemesis. She also happened to be the firm`s crack criminal defense attorney and a certified babe. Despite Deming’s assurances that they ended things long ago, one event still traumatized me: I once saw Pamela Schwartz in a bathing suit.
The ever-faithful Po was parked at the curb, looking daisy fresh. Pretty good for a man cruising toward eighty or any age for that matter. It was almost 1 a.m.
After we settled in, Anika reached over and squeezed my hand.
“How are you holding up?”
“Okay. Nothing that a few hours rest won`t cure.”
She leaned her head on Bolin’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Absolutely. We`ll compare notes tomorrow.”
Traffic was sparse, and before long we were back inside our own home. Cato opened one eye and sank back on his bed, too tired or indifferent to sound an alarm. Deming murmured something then strode right into his study and grabbed the phone. I knew he was calling Pam, but like Cato, I remained silent.
I stripped off my finery, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed. Tomorrow was time enough to sort things out.
BREAKFAST WAS A solemn affair. Deming buried his nose in the Wall Street Journal and said very little. He had risen early and wordlessly prepared for work using his bespoke navy suit as corporate armor against any onslaught. Two can play that game. I buttoned my lip, checked the news on my iPad, and sipped espresso. The headline on the front page of the Globe gave me a jolt. Activist slain on Campus—alleged assailant held for questioning.
“Good Lord! Look at this.” I thrust the iPad at my husband.
Cato gave a sharp bark as Deming glanced at the screen.
“You don`t seem surprised,” I said. “How did they get on to this so fast?”
“Police reporter or someone from the campus. Any number of ways.” He scrolled to the next page. “At least they didn`t mention his name. Of course that won`t hold very long. They`ll have more facts by this evening. Check Twitter around noon.”
His tone was scrupulously polite, the impersonal style one used with strangers. As for me, enough was enough. I refused to beg or act guilty over Deming’s childish fantasies. When he rose and brushed the crumbs from his slacks, I stepped to his side.
“Where did you sleep last night?” I asked.
He averted his eyes. “Guest room. I didn`t want to wake you.”
I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “We`ve never slept apart before. Not since getting married. What`s wrong?”
“Not now, Eja. I have to go.”
“Now!” I gripped his elbow with all my strength. “This is so silly.”
Deming twisted away and stepped back. “I`m ashamed of myself. Please forgive me. It`s just, the look on your face when you heard his name . . .”
“Whose name? Gabriel? What look?”
His hazel eyes were an inferno. “I`ve always worried about it. That you still cared for him. Last night your first instinct was to defend him. It made me crazy.”
Angst turned to anger as I heard those words. “So you set the redial and went running to Pam. That`s just great, Deming. You know how she affects me. Did you do it deliberately or don`t you care?”
I never cry, but this time I came perilously close. Tiff tea
rs are a calculated, dishonest strategy some women use to cloud the issue. I gulped and took a deep breath instead.
Deming pulled me to his chest and held me tight. “Don`t. Please don`t,” he said. “It was work. Pam and I didn`t discuss anything personal. I swear.” He stroked my hair and rocked me back and forth as if I were an infant. “I love you, Eja. Too much sometimes. That guy drives me crazy the way he manipulates people, especially women.”
“Big whoop,” I said. “Alert the media. Anyone with two working brain cells figures Gabriel out PDQ. He`s a total sleaze. I know that better than anyone, and I also know that he`s too cowardly to confront Sonia, too cautious to murder her. That was my point. He didn`t do it. If anything, he`d put someone else up to doing it.”
Deming twirled me around in a dancing maneuver. “You are something special, Mrs. Swann, or do you prefer Ms. Kane?”
“Either is fine. Just stop these temper tantrums and focus on the issue. Someone murdered two women, and that man or woman is roaming around Boston. We can stop whoever it is.”
After a suitable period of consolation, I took his hand and kissed it. “One thing more, Counselor. I never really loved anyone until you. The others were just practice.”
EVERY MORNING UNTIL noon, I tackle my writing chores. That slot is inviolate as anyone who knows me is well aware. Apparently Melanie Hunt hadn`t gotten the message.
When she phoned I wasn`t surprised even though our last encounter was distinctly frosty. Desperate wives do the strangest things.
“I must speak with you,” she said, a note of hysteria tingeing her voice. “My husband . . . Gabriel.”
I had finally learned the value of silence. No need to prompt this pampered socialite or act as her dialogue coach. Why make things easy?
“Mrs. Swann, I need your help. Gabriel needs your help.”
“Really? I`m not sure what I could do.”
Melanie embarked upon a long stream of consciousness rant during which she bemoaned Gabriel’s wandering ways and affirmed her belief in his innocence.
“He trusts you,” Melanie said. “Gabriel always said you were the smartest person he`d ever met.”
That made me smile. A superior IQ hadn`t helped me to see through my ex-husband until it was far too late. Score one for naïveté.
“Gabriel retained counsel, I presume.”
Melanie brushed me off like an errant fly. “Of course. Some woman lawyer with your husband’s firm. That`s not the issue. He needs more than legal work. Someone has to find the real killer. Someone who believes in him.”
Despite some crime solving experience, I am strictly amateur league. Furthermore, Deming would explode if I got involved. Not worth it. Gabriel could rot in jail for all I cared.
“Just speak with him,” Melanie pleaded. “He should be home this evening. Please.”
“The police find murderers. That`s their job, and most are pretty good at it.” I shuddered, thinking of Keegan’s smirk when he mentioned Gabriel. “Besides, his attorney simply wouldn`t permit any interference. Trust me, I know her.”
Melanie clicked the receiver without saying another word. Obviously her social skills could use some burnishing. How would Miss Porter`s faculty explain such an ill-tempered alumna?
I hunkered down at my computer, but inspiration wouldn`t come. Melanie’s plea distracted and intrigued me. If Gabriel was innocent, who else nursed a grudge worth taking two lives for? I made a mental list of suspects.
In desperation I phoned Anika. As my partner in crime solving and a judge of people she had few equals. Between the two of us, we could snoop with the best of them.
“How did Dem react?” his mother asked.
“Not well at first, but he`s okay now.”
“That boy adores you, Eja. Always has. He just gets carried away sometimes.”
When I mentioned Melanie’s plea for help, Anika hesitated. “That`s tricky, wouldn`t you say? I spoke with Bolin a while ago. He said that Pam took over and got Gabriel released. They haven`t formally charged him yet, and Pam is convinced that they don`t have the evidence.” Anika giggled. “Apparently Keegan pitched a fit when she showed up.”
“She`s good at her job,” I said evenly. Pamela Schwartz was a first-class bitch, but fair is fair. “Still, I wonder who else was in that building when Sonia died. You`ve seen those offices. They`re small, and the walls are paper thin.”
“You left some files there, didn`t you?” Anika asked. “I presume you`ll still write the book even without Sonia.”
“Are you kidding? The story`s bigger than ever. If I don`t, some other author will dive right in and clean up.”
“I just may call Professor Paskert. You know, offer my condolences and reassure him about the endowment. He`s probably concerned.” Anika’s smile wafted over the phone lines.
“Let me know how everything goes,” I said.
THE FIREWORKS started right away. Deming sent me an email invitation to dine at Grotto, an intimate Italian spot just blocks from our home. Using email was cowardly but clever especially since the guest of honor was none other than Pamela Schwartz.
I shouldn`t have panicked about my hair or wardrobe. The lookism brigade would put a big thumbs down on that. With only five hours until liftoff, I plunged into the shower to shampoo my curly dark mop and calm those pesky nerves. I`m proud of my long, thick hair. It`s the one thing I can always count on to give my appearance a lift. On the other hand, Pamela was a bottle blonde whose locks had noticeably thinned in recent years. Meow!
I recalled that Grotto’s interior was a triumph of simplicity and elegance over glitz. That meant choosing an ensemble that embodied both of those qualities. I`m no glamour girl, but in the right light, I can turn a head or two. A titian cashmere dress and subtle jewelry seemed very appropriate. No sense in trying too hard—Pamela would sneer at that.
At 8 p.m., Cinderella arrived at the ball, and the festivities began.
Pamela Schwartz, garbed exclusively in Prada, wasted no time getting to the point. “My client wants your help in the investigation. I told Dem that`s a very bad idea.”
I shrugged and took a sip of wine. “Okay. Fine with me.”
An unattractive frown surfaced between her brows. “He insists. Thinks you`re some kind of magician.”
Deming reached under the table and squeezed my hand. Oddly enough, this brilliant man of the world was nervous.
“Eja unearths the damnedest things,” he said. “People confide in her. It`s a talent.”
I kept a placid expression on my face, a humble ruse that infuriated Pamela Schwartz. The gleam in her eyes gave her away.
“Gabriel authorized me to share any information that you want. Very bad business.”
I leaned forward and locked eyes with the Gorgon. “Look, Pam. Get this straight. I intend to write a true crime account of these murders with as much accuracy as possible. If anything exonerates Gabriel, well enough. Otherwise let the chips fall.”
Deming leapt into the conversation. “And I plan to help her.” He glanced at me with infinite tenderness. “We`re a team.”
Pamela Schwartz grimaced as if she had swallowed a lemon. “I guess that settles that. What do you want to know?”
EXTRACTING INFORMATION from Pam wasn`t easy. It renewed my respect for dentists and government interrogators everywhere. After a round of false starts and evasions, I found some of the answers I was seeking.
Gabriel had worked late that night. At least that was his story. A slight hesitation, a flicker of her eyes made me suspicious. Clients lie to their attorneys all the time even when it runs counter to their own best interests. Knowing his proclivities, I asked a follow-up question.
“Was he alone?”
Pam hesitated. “Not exactly. He was counseling one of his students.”
“Female,
no doubt.” Deming couldn`t help himself. He had to say it.
She nodded.
“That means he has a witness,” I said. “She`s his alibi.”
Another hesitation by Pam. “That`s partially true, but according to Keegan, there`s a three-hour window when the murder could have happened. Gabriel was alone for part of the time.”
I closed my eyes and did a mind map of the space. Their offices were separated by a corridor, but the sounds of a struggle would still be audible.
“I`ve been there,” I said. “Didn`t he hear cries for help or sounds of a struggle?”
Pam fiddled with her coffee spoon. “He had earphones on. Apparently Gabriel loves classical music. Says it helps him decompress. He didn`t hear a thing.” She rose, directing her remarks to Deming. “That`s all I know at this point. Keegan is playing it cagey for the time being. He knows he has bupkis against my client.” The poison Pam smile emerged. “If every petty quarrel escalated into murder, Concord University would be a bloodbath. Most of those people loathe each other.”
After she left, Deming and I shared biscotti and a snifter of Armagnac. Gazing at his profile in the candlelight left me boneless, ready to melt. He reached over, grasped my hand, and brushed my fingertips with his lips.
“I meant what I said tonight. We`re a team.”
At first I was overwhelmed, unable to say a word. When the soft strains of Pavarotti wafted through the restaurant I shivered.
“Passione,” Deming said. “That`s what he`s singing. Just for you, Eja. That`s how I feel. No one else mattered before or since. Just you.”
“Really?” An inelegant response but all I could muster. Deming was obsessed by opera, but until tonight I had been indifferent. Never again. The fusion of beautiful music and the man I loved stirred me as it climbed inexorably toward the crescendo.
He read in my eyes what my lips did not say. Deming rose and gently helped me to my feet. The touch of his hands electrified me, sending every nerve ending into overdrive.
